The Tea and Sympathy Affair
by RoseLight
Summary: Two stressed strangers and an after-hours encounter


Tea and Sympathy

It was a two- cup- of -tea morning. The first cup was as necessary to Susan's life as blood and breath. The second, that was for days like today.

January 15, 1969. Gordon had been dead for two years now. So had she. Of course in Susan's case there was no physical evidence; she had learned it was perfectly possible to walk around without a functioning heart.

It was a friend of a friend who eventually prodded her to fill out an application for the U.N.C.L.E. and accept the interview. And when the Personnel appointee discerned Susan did not care whether she lived or died, she was promptly assigned to the HQS Commissary. Or as it was known among the employees, The Dante Cafe: Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter.

A cafeteria line was a good place to observe people and remain anonymous.

These were good folks, she decided. They were smart and hardworking and dedicated. Like Gordon had been. Like Susan used to be. And the more she gleaned, the more she found herself caring about these strangers.

Late Friday Susan was abandoned by the staff as soon as they could wriggle out of their aprons. The Kitchen was closed, and she had finished wiping down the plastic tables and was just untying her apron when he came round the corner.

Susan saw his shoulders slump as he realized he was too late for any service. He stood uncertainly, as if he did not know where his next steps would take him. He had seen her drape her apron over a hook and did not make eye contact with her. He was too polite, too aware of his own weariness, to ask her to stay late and serve him.

It had been a long, discouraging day. Susan's feet ached. Her spirit was crippled. And yet, all she could see was the very tense and tired man.

She pulled out a chair and it squeaked across the linoleum. "Come, sit," she smiled the invitation. "You look like you could use a good cup of tea."

He dropped into the chair, and made no pretense of his weariness. "A good cup of tea," he repeated. "Yes, that would be …much appreciated." He slumped across the table and was silent as Susan disappeared quietly into the kitchen and set the pot to boiling. In the few minutes of her absence, he had nodded off.

"Sir…?" she called softly, wishing she knew his name, to make her appeal more personal, "Sir…your tea's ready…" she fanned some steam near his face to revive him.

Susan pulled up a chair and sat across from the disheveled agent, pursed her lips to cool the steaming cup she held in her own hand. "You are very welcome here," she assured her guest. Then all was still. The lights in the cafeteria were timed to dim at 7 pm, when the kitchen was officially closed. They sat in the shadows, sipping tea.

"I'm sorry to have kept you past closing," he apologized. Then he took another long drink. "But I really needed this. Thank you," he repeated. His blond head came up and he looked her straight in the eye. "Russian Caravan?" he questioned the hearty flavor on his tongue. "When did the commissary start serving tea?"

"My own stash." Susan smiled secretly, patting her tote bag. "Coffee is for work. Tea is for comfort."

"You're very perceptive, Susan."

She started at her name. How could he know? Of course she knew basically what They did there, but why would any of Them be interested in her? Then her fingers flew to her chest. "I didn't know anyone actually read these things," she touched her name tag.

"I won't keep you long," he promised.

Susan shook her head. "It's a two-cup-of-tea-night," she replied. "Please take your time and let the tea do its magic."

He half-smiled and his lids drooped to cover those startling lightning-blue eyes. His breathing became slow and regular. Susan turned the heat under the pot to "simmer" and rescued the tilting cup from his hand

Twenty minutes later he shook himself awake, just as she finished brewing their second cup. She set it in front of him and now his hands clutched the cup, clinging to its warmth.

"There's good news," she said. "Your partner is in recovery and resting comfortably."

He started up from his chair and she took his hands and settled him back down. "Finish your tea," she insisted.

"Was the doctor here? Did I miss him?"

Susan shook her head "I phoned Medical and asked around. I…can recognize a case of Waiting Room Eyes."

Death was swift and violent in his world. Not like with Gordon. A pang of memory caught up with her. Suddenly she was glad to have had that year to minister to him, to lavish a lifetime of love into that compressed time they had left together. Dear God, so much misery in the world. So much courage it took to begin another day, never knowing…

Kuryakin finished his second tea in contemplation. Heartened, he rose and wished his hostess well. "Time for you to head home," he reminded her, and settled her jacket over her drooping shoulders.

" You, too."

He shook his head. "I'm feeling quite rejuvenated. I think I'll head back up to Medical. I get a lot of paperwork accomplished there…perhaps I should requisition a desk."

They parted at the north corridor.

"Thank you, Susan," he said solemnly. " Your kindness has saved me."

"Perhaps your need has saved me." It was her first genuine smile. "French toast on Monday. I'll save you extra syrup," she promised.

finis


End file.
